


binary ideals

by dayevsphil



Series: dayevsphil commissions [9]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2011 Era (Phandom), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gender Identity, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayevsphil/pseuds/dayevsphil
Summary: The dress is no big deal. It doesn't have to mean anything unless Dan allows it to.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: dayevsphil commissions [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682980
Comments: 21
Kudos: 131





	binary ideals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indistinct_echo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indistinct_echo/gifts).



> for echo ♥ thank you so much for this lovely prompt and for being so hands-on in making this fic perfect for you!

Dan's hand is shaking. 

It doesn't usually. This isn't a regular problem for him or anything. He's no artist, but he can draw a straight line without his fingers trembling.

Usually, anyway. Usually, he can.

Dan sighs and lowers the kohl pencil from his left eye. It's a mess. Somehow, it's even worse than his first attempt had been. His eyeliner isn't even _in_ a line. His left eye certainly doesn't match the right one. He looks down at his fingers, at the dried mess of black polish he'd gotten all over them.

He knows that this sort of thing isn't intuitive. He's watched enough of his friends put on their faces in front of the camera to know now that makeup is an art form, something that needs as much practice as any other like it. But he'd still hoped... well.

It feels stupid now. Dan had just hoped that he'd be miraculously good at this. If he can apply the pigments on his body in a way that looks nice, then maybe it's a sign that he's on the right track with this. He's still not completely sure what _this_ is, but he's figuring things out. It feels like he is constantly in a state of figuring things out. All he had wanted was a bit of a break from that, some kind of certainty in himself that he's never quite managed to find.

Tired of looking at the mess he made, Dan fishes a shirt off the floor to cover his mirror. It's technically Phil's - most of the actual, useful stuff in the flat belongs to Phil - but Dan has had the mirror in his room for so long now that it might as well be his.

Dan gets up from his desk. He acts like he's on the way to scrub his face in the shower, but his feet lead him to the closet. He has to push a couple of things out of the way before he finds the right hanger. He has been telling himself that it is to keep his costume a surprise but that, too, is a lie. He just hadn't wanted Phil to stumble across it.

Halloween was the only good reason Dan had been able to think of to justify the purchase. If it exists as a costume at the back of his closet that he may or may not actually wear out of his bedroom, then the dress is no big deal.

If he owns the dress because he _wants_ to wear the dress, then... that means something. He doesn't know what it means, but it's something.

Frankly, he doesn't know what any of this means. The clothes, the makeup, the way he feels when he thinks about it. He's done the Google deep dive and knows all the right terminology, sure, but he doesn't know what it means for himself. Because of course men can wear eyeliner and nail polish and even dresses, but that explanation doesn't feel exactly right for Dan.

The process of getting his kit off to wiggle the dress up his long legs is becoming a familiar one. He'll wear it sometimes when Phil isn't home. The nail polish is a newer endeavour and the eyeliner has only come into play today. He's a bit worried about how it's all going to look together. He knows that he looks stupid, that the sequined top of his dress isn't structured for a torso like his own, that the makeup is a bit of a joke.

It sucks that he knows how stupid he looks. Normally, Dan feels alright about the dress. He'll flatten his palms down the soft material of the black skirt and turn to see all his angles in the mirror, and it makes him wonder what it means that the sight of himself makes him feel comfort and pride and shame all at the same time.

Dan doesn't bother uncovering the mirror. He doesn't think that he can handle seeing himself like this. Instead, he looks down at his big, polish-stained hands and smooths them over the sequins, the satin, the bare skin of his upper thighs. It shouldn't affect him this much, but Dan knows better than to try and tell his contrarian brain that it shouldn't do something. 

His hands are still shaking.

Phil is home, but he's napping. He's supposed to be napping. Dan doesn't expect the quick knock on his bedroom door, and he certainly doesn't expect Phil to let himself in when Dan doesn't immediately tell him to fuck off. Phil's in the middle of asking a question, but Dan can't hear it over the pounding blood that has rushed to his head. He feels dizzy and hot all over, knows that his face is bright red and his eyes are wide with the shock of Phil's entrance, but all he can really do is tug the skirt further down his thighs so it isn't entirely inappropriate.

It takes longer than Dan expects for Phil to realise that something is off. He's sat on the foot of Dan's bed and rambling about dinner, maybe, when he suddenly trails off and _looks_ at Dan.

For a long moment, they're both quiet. Dan wants to run.

Then, Phil giggles. Dan _really_ wants to run.

"Oh my god," Phil is saying. Dan forces himself to pay attention, even as his face burns in shame. "You've really made a mess of yourself, haven't you?"

In any other situation, Dan would be laughing along with Phil. The problem is that, as much as he wishes otherwise, this _thing_ means too much to him. He bites down hard on his lower lip and shrugs. "It's, uh," he manages, "better than you'd do."

"That's rude. And a lie, anyway! I might not know how to paint nails, but I'm an _artiste_. I could figure out the face stuff."

"Makeup."

"Sure," Phil agrees cheerfully. His eyes are still twinkling with amusement, but they're sharpening the longer he's looking at Dan. They've been friends for too long for Phil to be completely oblivious to Dan's discomfort, and Dan knows that the cogs are turning in Phil's brain to figure out the reason.

It's obvious that Dan wouldn't be so mortified and uncomfortable if this had been a joke, a costume, no big deal. But he isn't about to help Phil connect those dots.

Not when _he_ still doesn't know how they connect.

"I need to wash my face," says Dan.

He manages to leave the room without Phil protesting, but he should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Phil catches up with him in the bathroom and takes the damp washcloth right out of Dan's shaking hand.

"Let me."

It isn't a question, but Phil does wait until Dan gives him a jerky nod before he presses the cloth to his face. The touch is so gentle, and Dan could almost start crying when Phil's other hand cups his jaw, sure and soft and steady. He closes his eyes, giving Phil access to the mess he made of his eyelids.

"Why is this stuff so hard to do?" Dan asks, trying to get past the lump in his throat and have a regular conversation. He doesn't think he succeeds, but Phil doesn't call him out.

"Dunno," is all he says, turning Dan's face this way and that as he cleans the kohl liner off it. "I guess if it was easy we wouldn't have makeup tutorials on YouTube."

"I did watch a couple," says Dan.

"What happened, then?" Phil's voice is so soft and gentle, just like his hands, and Dan can't hear any of the judgement he expects. Phil is only curious. Because of course he is; this is a strange situation that he had walked in on.

Phil lets go of him. Dan keeps his eyes closed. "My hands were shaking."

"They still are."

"I know."

"Do you want to," Phil starts, and then stops. It takes a couple of breaths before he continues hesitantly. "Talk about this?"

"No," Dan says, just as uncertain.

"I just want to know if I can help," says Phil. He sounds so sincere that Dan screws up his courage to peek an eye open. Phil gives him an unsure sort of smile. "I'm sorry I laughed at you."

The echo of Phil's giggle is still reverberating around Dan's brain, but he knows that Phil hadn't meant any malice by it. "That's okay. I looked pretty funny."

"Still," Phil insists, "I shouldn't have laughed. You look... nice."

At the blatant lie, Dan snorts. He looks sideways at the bathroom mirror, taking in his pinked face and his big stained hands and the badly-fitted dress and everything else that makes him look so out of place whenever he tries to explore this part of himself. "Yeah, right."

"I mean, the dress is nice," says Phil. His lips are twitching again, but so are Dan's. This feels so silly.

"It is," Dan agrees. In a quieter voice, he adds, "I like it. I don't really, like... know why. I'm just... trying stuff on right now."

"Okay," Phil says easily enough.

Dan knows that Phil doesn't fully understand. Phil is always so absolute in his own identity, no matter what the aspect of it might be. He's gay. He's a nerd. He's a dog person. He's a good son. 

He's a man.

The thing is, Dan doesn't know what it means to be a man. He knows all the words and definitions, and he also knows that all of them have made him feel so strangled. He has never once been certain of who he is, because every single label has things attached to it that have made him spiral into self-doubt.

He doesn't know what it means to be a man, and he doesn't know what it means that he doesn't feel like a man all of the time but also doesn't feel like a woman. He doesn't know what it means that he doesn't care what he or anyone else has between their legs. And he doesn't believe that Phil, someone so firm in who he is, will ever completely understand why Dan bought this dress. 

But that doesn't mean that Phil can't be supportive. He smiles at Dan and says, "Let me know if I can help. I can't paint nails, but I can, like... do your hair, maybe. I've got some elastics."

"Okay." Dan wonders if he's still flushed red, if his smile is too goofy and telling, but he's flooded with so much relief that he can't be bothered worrying about that. He's had enough worrying today. "You don't have to do that, but... I'd like that. Not tonight, but, like, generally."

"I want to," says Phil. "So, you wanna get pizza and watch people fall off stuff on national telly?"

"Literally always. Let me just... change."

"You don't have to."

Dan can't help the fondness that washes over him. He shakes his head. "It's not exactly loungewear, mate. I'll meet you on the couch."

"I'll be the one in blue," Phil jokes. His hand hovers between them for an odd moment before he squeezes Dan's wrist. There are a lot of things that Dan imagines Phil is saying with that touch, but he's not interested in continuing any heavy conversations right now. Instead of asking or making some kind of dismissive joke, he smiles. 

His hands feel steady for the first time all day.

**Author's Note:**

> huge thank you to jude, chicken, and andrea for looking this over and again to echo for the prompt! it was so cathartic.
> 
> reblog on tumblr [here!](https://dayevsphil.tumblr.com/post/618837025235353600/binary-ideals)


End file.
